


Loved and Lost

by JackOfNone



Category: Final Fantasy IV
Genre: Community: springkink, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-28
Updated: 2009-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackOfNone/pseuds/JackOfNone





	Loved and Lost

Cecil's eyes fluttered open at the sound of someone opening the door to his room. With the innkeeper downstairs gone missing in the fray and the majority of the castle still sequestered in the tower or lying on cots and stretchers in the overflowing infirmary, Cecil's room had been wrapped in a silence so thick it had become oppressive; the slick noise of lacquered wood sliding along stone and the soft rustle of clothing sounded loud as cannon shots by comparison.

With some effort, Cecil pushed himself into a sitting position to regard his guest. He had been expecting a healer from the infirmary, and he was rather surprised to find Prince Edward hovering in the doorway, looking unusually pale and wan by the flickering light of the torches. He had a bandage over his forehead, stained with dried blood, and clutched a basket full of jars and vials.

"I'm sorry," the prince said, sliding the door shut. "Were you sleeping?"

"No," Cecil said. His head was far too full of troubles for that. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, this?" Edward touched the gauze absently. "It's nothing. There was a lot of blood, but you can barely see the wound once it's been cleaned up." Edward made his way across the room, perched himself a bit presumptuously on the edge of Cecil's bed, and set the basket down on the bedside table. Without a word he drew a wide black bowl and filled it with water from a glass bottle.

"What are you doing?" Cecil asked. Edward shrugged.

"You left so suddenly, and there are so many wounded...I suspect the healers have forgotten about you for the time being. So, I thought I'd see how you were. Let me see your arm, Lord Captain."

Reluctantly, Cecil held out his right forearm. He had half-heartedly bandaged the wound there, where Kain's spear had slid into a gap in his armor and sliced open leather and flesh, and had been spending the past few hours trying to ignore its existence. It was far too stark a reminder of how well Kain knew Cecil, and how utterly he had been betrayed.

"The title hardly seems fitting," Cecil said, "for an exile."

"Nonsense," Edward said, unwrapping Cecil's makeshift bandage and setting it gingerly on the table. "A knight who refuses to serve a usurper is no less a knight. Besides, you've always called me by my proper title, and there's barely anything left for me to be prince of." Edward dipped a scrap of cloth in the bowl of water and began to dab the blood from Cecil's arm; the dark knight winced in anticipation of an unskilled attempt at healing. Within moments he realized he had no need to worry -- Edward's touch was practiced and gentle.

"I didn't know you knew anything about medicine," Cecil said. Edward shrugged and did not look up from his work.

"If you wandered the desert singing for your supper and then fell in love with the daughter of one of the world's most learned men -- and Anna certainly took after her father in that regard -- you might pick up a few things yourself."

Edward had a strange way of speaking about Anna -- he wavered between terribly melancholy and surprisingly matter-of-fact, as though he were speaking of someone who was still alive. Somehow the contrast only served to make Edward seem that much more lonely, as though he could not bring himself to always fully acknowledge that Anna was gone.

As if in contrast to Cecil's gloomy thoughts, Edward had absently begun to hum a tune Cecil did not recognize. The golden tone of the prince's voice was clear even in such a casual act -- it was obvious Edward was a natural musician, and one who had had the misfortune of being born to the merciless arena of politics and war.

"Your Highness," Cecil said, quietly. Edward looked up at Cecil, who glanced away immediately -- he could scarcely bear the unguarded scrutiny of Edward's forgiving eyes. "You don't--"

"If you are going to ask me to leave," Edward said mildly, "I will not." He had finished with bandaging the wound and leaned up to inspect the side of Cecil's face, scraped and bruised from where his helmet had clashed against his head in his final fall. Cecil pulled away, but Edward gently turned his head back to face him. "Not after what happened up there."

"I'm sorry," Cecil said, closing his eyes. He felt Edward lay a cool, damp cloth on his stinging cheek. "Everywhere I go, I've only brought suffering and death. If it weren't for me--"

"If it weren't for you, Fabul would be in ruins now," Edward said firmly. "If it weren't for you, where would I have gone after Damcyan fell? You can't blame yourself for Baron's --"

"Baron's villainy?" Cecil cried suddenly, burying his face in his hands. "I was a part of that! I killed two mages on the steps of the Mysidian library. I gave them the Crystal of Water with my own hands. And since then? I've turned my sword against my country's soldiers. I've failed to protect two kingdoms. And I..." Cecil faltered, barely able to speak the words aloud, "I couldn't even save Rosa when she needed me most."

"Then we'll sail tomorrow," Edward said. His arm had somehow found its way around Cecil's shoulders, his graceful fingers smoothing Cecil's hair. Only Rosa had ever touched him with such tenderness. It was at once comforting and an aching reminder of her absence. Cecil was suddenly conscious of how little he knew about Edward -- he had been a sobbing, blood-stained wreck of a man when they met, and now here they were, their roles quite nearly reversed. What had changed between then and now?

"I don't deserve this," Cecil said.

"Cecil, I'm not a soldier, nor a wizard," Edward said softly. "And I never made a very good prince. I'm really only a poet...this and my music are all I have to offer." Edward was lying beside him now, his arms wrapped around him in a familiar embrace. Cecil desperately wanted to tell the bard to leave, to abandon him to his sorrow and let him suffer deservedly in peace.

But somehow, despite all this, the words that tumbled from his lips were simply "Please, Edward...don't go."

"Never," Edward whispered in reply, his breath so close and warm it sent shivers down Cecil's spine.


End file.
